


A Rather Fowl Day

by Feliz_Navi_Stop



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy
Genre: A grocery run gone bad, Alternate Universe - Crack, Chocobos, Chocobos can eat Cloud’s entire ass, Cloud Strife Is So Done, Cloud is done with everything and everyone, Cloud is embarrassed in front of his idols and kind of crushes, Coffee, Crack, Gen, Genesis is a thief, I Don't Even Know, It’s all Zack’s fault, M/M, One Shot, Other, Pranks, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, bad day gone worse, except no he likes his ass too much, he just knows it, hippogriffs can go choke, if Zack doesn’t stop laughing RIGHT NOW, possible ensuing prank war, that’s the understatement of the year, threats of pranks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feliz_Navi_Stop/pseuds/Feliz_Navi_Stop
Summary: Cloud is given the important task of picking up a delivery—for the head of the Turks! Everything goes to hell from there.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	A Rather Fowl Day

**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanation.
> 
> Alternate title could be “Cloud and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day”

How in the world had his life come to this? All he wanted was to play trooper for a bit before (hopefully) testing into the SOLDIER ranks. Unfortunately, and not for the first time, it appeared that life had an entirely different idea of what should happen.

A blond head could be seen bobbing through the crowd in his civvies, trying desperately to get to the upper plate of the city. Said blond was carrying an armload of Wutai specialty coffee because apparently the leader of the Turks had his own stash stolen by Shinra’s beloved (though not as much as their silver-haired golden boy) Red General.

Normally a trooper like himself wouldn’t be relegated to delivery runs and especially not when he should be doing drills for the SOLDIER exam that was quickly barreling his way. Sadly, he found himself at the wrong place at the wrong time and that is what resulted in his impromptu journey to the slums.

* * *

Earlier that day, the blond—who will henceforth be known as Cloud Strife—was leisurely strolling back to his shared room to change into his uniform when he was snagged by his sergeant. Apparently, he needed to deliver a report from Heidegger to the secretaries outside of the General’s offices. It was an “important and distinguished job” that could “really help boost his reputation among the higher ups” (re: he was available, basically trustworthy with a spotless record, and easy to find when no one else was. Cloud is beginning to suspect he knew just exactly why the halls were so strangely empty when they normally would’ve been filled with troopers on break playing cards for candy bets and drinking sodas they smuggled into the barracks).

He was just handing the sealed report stamped “ **CLASSIFIED** ” (subtlety was apparently not one of Heidegger’s strengths) in big red letters to the secretary and wishing her—he thinks he remembers her name tag said Naomi?—a lovely day when he was stopped by a disgruntled looking Wutaian man in an impeccable suit. It was obvious he was a Turk.

(Cloud refuses to ever admit the split-second of “oh shit what’d I do” that stalled his brain when he realized just who was stopping him, just like he refuses to admit having ever done something as undignified as jump when he turned around and promptly found himself being stared down by 182 centimeters of grumpy Turk).

Cloud hardly remembered much of what happened through the incredulity in his mind beyond a vague sense of being told he was “adequate for the job,” before being given a sheet of paper with a hastily—but still neatly, he noted with some envy—scribbled address and name and told to “have it delivered by dinner time.”

The secretary clicked her tongue and gave him a pitying smile when he asked her what just happened. Fat lot of help she was.

And so, after about a minute and a half of bewildered staring at the piece of paper in his hands, Cloud made his way down the elevator to ground level before setting off for the slums. After all, how bad could a quick grocery run be, really? All he had to do was pick up the order and bring it back. No muss, no fuss, and he couldn’t exactly refuse to do it without bad repercussions. You just didn’t mess with the Turks. Everyone knew that. Hell, even the legendary and esteemed Sephiroth gave them a wide berth. Cloud didn’t blame him.

* * *

Cloud hitched a ride in a taxi down to Sector 5 (a place he’d been before thank gods, though not frequently) and was dropped off just a short walk away from the Wall Market where the vendor he needed was located at.

He clutched a little tighter to the paper when he saw a few of the more unsavory characters eye him suspiciously.

He made it into the market relatively unharmed save for the sludge on his boots from what looked like a tar spill in the road and (from a cursory glance around the immediate area) managed to spot the vendor quickly. A large sign with neon lights hung over the doorway to a decrepit old shop with lanterns and origami hung in the window; it read, “Mei Lung’s Wutai Trading Co.” in bright red and orange.

Walking through the door, a small set of bells signaled his entrance. Bustling behind the front counter (that had loads of candies he couldn’t begin to recognize piled around it) was a short, stout, and stone-faced little lady with an outfit like he’d never seen before. She appeared to finish sorting through a box of knickknacks—were those Wutai finger traps?!—before she finally deigned him worth her attention.

She managed to give him an assessing once-over and (with no small amount of suspicion in her voice) asked, “what can I do for you?” in clear, if accented, English.

Cloud cleared his throat awkwardly, before reading the paper the Turk had handed him. “I’m here to pick up a delivery, order number 50991. I was told you had his order on a tab he’d pay you back for,” he stated plainly.

“Ah, that’s a strong order. It’s about time he came to pick up another batch. I’m surprised he sent you to get it, though,” the old lady gave him a suspicious look again. “He usually comes to pick it up himself on his trips down here.”

“If I’m being honest with you, ma’am, I don’t entirely know _how_ I got tasked with this. He,” Cloud glanced down at the paper to see if he could glean a name, “Tseng, that is, confronted me when I was speaking with the secretary. Seemed annoyed, at best. Apparently his coffee was stolen by some ‘impudent, suicidal bastard,’ as he put it.”

The lady—Cloud guesses this must be Mei, judging by her commanding ease of the shop—gave a dry chuckle at this. “Whoever stole his coffee is in for a terrible surprise, I’m afraid. We take our coffee very seriously, you know.”

Cloud gave an uneasy smile. “I can’t imagine it’ll turn out well for the culprit.”

“Most definitely not,” she nodded solemnly. “Coffee is a sacred liquid. To mess with a man’s coffee is to court death.”

Cloud gave the lady a disbelieving look, but the expression on her face said he’d be best not to doubt her. Or Tseng, apparently.

“Right, then, Miss Mei? Is it? Can I just—“

“Oh, yes, the order,” she nodded to herself, interrupting him. “Let me grab it for you in the back. I’ll return shortly, but feel free to check out the rest of my wares. You’ll, of course, understand that I take inventory every morning and evening and I’ll know if anything goes missing, surely,” she said pointedly.

Cloud gave an awkward chuckle and waved his hands in a show of innocence. Zack (his friend, and a new SOLDIER recruit) did it a lot when he needed to put people at ease. She gave him another suspicious look. She did that a lot. He guessed it was normal given the people that frequented the market.

Cloud had just shaken himself out of his musings to glance at a delicately carved wooden koi when the lady came shuffling out of a back room, a rather large box in her hands.

“Here’s the order. Be sure to let him know that the farms have had a slow harvest this last month and his next shipment won’t be in for nearly two weeks from when it usually arrives,” she said while setting the box down on the counter with a resounding “thud.”

“Thank you for your help,” Cloud offered, hefting the box into his hands. It was way heavier than it looked, unfortunately. Fantastic. At least it smelled really good. She waved him off and went back to rummaging through a different stack of boxes.

“ _Well, let’s hope I never get to have_ this _experience again_ ,” Cloud thought to himself on his way back through the bustling market, staying away from a group of teenagers subtly sizing up different people in the crowd.

* * *

Cloud found the taxi back where he’d been dropped off, which was strange because it normally would’ve driven off the moment he left. No matter, it gave him an easy way back above the plate. Or it would have, had the starter not gone out. What the hell?

“I don’t know what happened. I parked to let you out and grab a bite to eat from the Wutai stand over there, and now the damn thing won’t start,” the pot-bellied driver grumbled. Cloud sighed to himself. “Called the shop to come pick me up. Said it’ll be about an hour, though,” the man continued. “You’re welcome to call in another, but I’ve gotta wait to fill out the papers.”

“That’s fine, thank you. I’ll do just that,” Cloud nodded at the man, awkwardly balancing the box on his hip and pulling out his PHS. Cloud managed to get someone and request a taxi, but it would be about ten minutes. That was fine with him, if it meant getting out of the dingy feeling sector sooner.

Box in hand and phs back in his jacket pocket, Cloud readjusted the box to wait, surreptitiously eying his surroundings as he did so. It was filthy. Shinra really needed to do something about the people in the lower sectors. They shouldn’t have to live in this mess.

About 15 minutes later, a taxi finally pulled up and Cloud set the box beside him while climbing into the driver’s side backseat. He told the taxi driver he needed to be dropped off outside of Shinra headquarters, and the gruff taxi driver mumbled a “sure thing,” before snuffing out his cigarette on the steering wheel. Classy. At least the guy didn’t give him a creepy feeling, even if he did need to dust his pants off and get a portable ash-tray besides his cup holders, apparently.

Cloud wrinkled his nose at the smoky smell. He’d need to wash his outfit three times over before it’d come out, he just knew it.

They were driving for about seven minutes before the car came to an abrupt stop, startling Cloud who had been absentmindedly scrolling through his news feed. He chanced a look around the front seat and saw... five hippogriffs. Who weren’t supposed to be in the city, much less five of them at once. All lounging in the middle of the road. Rifling through a few bags of burgers and fries that looked to have been recently dropped. Seriously, what the hell had his life come to?

The driver had a few choice—and Cloud gave him extra points for creativity, too—words he mumbled about the situation before saying they’d have to figure out another route, or back up and wait until Shinra did something about it (which he followed with an amused and disdainful snort, Cloud noted bemusedly).

The man scrolled through his phs for a minute, looking for an alternate way out. There was none. The only other road they could take was closed due to “construction from a scuffle with monsters,” according to a Shinra news bulletin that popped up. Honestly, what the fresh and fruity-flavored hell?

Cloud groaned, and sat back, content to wait a few minutes and see if the monsters would move on. At least they weren’t terrorizing people—just scaring the shit out of them.

Cloud scrolled through his phs a little more, sending a poker face emote to Zack when he saw a picture said man had sent to him; it consisted of Zack, his mentor general Angeal, a red headed man in a plain outfit Cloud vaguely placed as being the normally exuberant and eccentric general Genesis, and General fricking Sephiroth himself, titled “late lunch with the baes.” Zack held up bunny ears behind the distracted Silver General’s head. Cloud nearly fainted at the thought of being that cheeky with the “Bane of Wutai.”

He went back to scrolling when, a second later, his phs pinged with yet another message from Zack. It was a picture with him sticking his tongue out at the camera, slightly blurred as Genesis reached his hands out, apparently trying to take the device away from him.

Cloud, who was not in the mood to put up with his friend’s usual antics, sent a simple “not now, stuck in traffic. Hippogriffs in the road eating takeout.” He paused for only a moment to marvel at the absurdity of that statement before hitting send.

Zack apparently didn’t believe it at all, judging by his response, a curt “the shit did they put in your water bottle this time, Spikey?” prompting Cloud to take a picture of his conundrum and send the proof.

Cloud waited for a response for five minutes. Nothing came. He went back to scrolling when he, once again, was interrupted. This time by a video call.

Cloud groaned and let it ring a few times before he mustered up the courage to answer it. “What do you want, Zack?” he asked, entirely fed up with life.

The camera on his friend’s end finally stopped shaking long enough for him to see Zack, red faced with a manic grin, stifling the last of his hysterical guffaws behind a hand he hastily slapped over his mouth. Of course. He was always so sympathetic to Cloud’s plights, especially the asinine ones.

“Hey—ahem—hey, Spike. You doin’ okay out there?” Zack managed to choke out. Cloud glared at him, unimpressed.

“I’d be significantly better if I wasn’t stuck here for the last ten minutes because a bunch of oversized chocobos decided to support the local burger joint, thanks for asking,” he quipped tartly.

This sent Zack into another peal of giggles—“honest to gods giggles, what _was_ he, a _twelve year old?_ ” a cultured voice on the other end mused—and Cloud saw the vague outline of Angeal’s shoulders shaking in the background. Thanks, Zack.

“So,” Zack tries not to giggle again, his entire body shaking with the effort to calm himself down, “so, would you mind, uh... flipping the camera around so that I can get a good look at them again?” his voice came out as a squeak in the end, a sound suspiciously like a snort abruptly cutting through the air.

Cloud just sighed. “Whatever,” he grumbled, flipping the camera.

Zack’s resounding heehawing was all the poor trapped, exhausted, and bedraggled trooper could hear for the next minute. Even the taxi driver snickered this time.

He flipped the camera around to see that Zack had apparently laid it down (or dropped it, Cloud wouldn’t put anything past the boisterous brunet), as he was greeted with a lovely view of white-washed ceiling and the vague idea of what might be silver hair in the corner of the screen. Of course. Because life hated him, plain and simple. Cloud prayed to Gaia that he’d at least make it out of this with some of his dignity still intact.

While Zack continued attempting to calm himself (a futile attempt, in Cloud’s mind), the phs was grabbed again and Cloud was faced with a broad face, broad shoulders, and a hastily hidden laugh.

Cloud said nothing, because really, what does a trooper say to a military general when in this situation?

Angeal, seeming to notice Cloud’s calm panick at the entire situation at hand, mercifully addresses him first. “You must be cadet Strife, correct?” came the calm, deep timbre.

Cloud, still busy deliberating between processing everything or just giving up hope entirely, responded with a slightly whiny—though he’d never admit it to himself—“yes sir, that’s right.”

Angeal gave a wry smile, stating, “you can drop the ‘sir,’ Strife. You’re not on duty right now and neither am I,” he chuckled, not unkindly.

“Right, sir! Uh—that is—“

The General had mercy on him once again, “Angeal is just fine, Cadet.”

“Well, then, uh, you can definitely just call me Cloud. Or Strife! Whichever you prefer,” he inwardly cringed at his own level of social ineptitude.

Angeal smiled broadly, “thank you, Cloud. Now, I do have one question. May I ask what happened to training? Zack told me your schedule usually has you doing drills at about this time.”

Cloud tried to hide a grimace. Angeal just raised a brow in response.

“Well, to be honest sir—uh, _Angeal_ —I don’t really know _what_ happened. Sergeant Smythe had me deliver something to one of the secretaries outside of your offices, actually, and I ran into an Angry Turk. Before I knew what was happening, he sent me down here to pick up an order for something,” Cloud tried his best to explain, knowing it seemed far-fetched.

Angeal seemed to believe him nonetheless, though he still looked slightly puzzled. “This Turk; did he happen to be a tall, long-haired Wutaian man?”

Cloud’s face must have spoken volumes.

“I see,” Angeal nodded. “I’m terribly sorry for the interruption to your day. I’m afraid my partner should be apologizing as well, but he’s still nursing his own ego. Apparently the esteemed general Genesis made the mistake of stealing specialized coffee from Tseng. Gen’s red coat turned up today in a laundry bag covered in permanent neon green paint. This might give you some comfort since he’s the reason you’re running around for the Head Turk after all,” Angeal grinned roguishly.

Cloud had a hard time picturing the redhead looking anything other than regal. It must have shown on his face, because Angeal laughed. Again.

“Right, then. I know for a fact that Genesis called for a small squadron of SOLDIER to be sent there to hopefully handle the situation. They’re armed to incapacitate the beasts to hopefully relocate, but you might want to get back a ways before the—“ the jovial man was interrupted by an enraged snarl of some creative swear-word combinations. Cloud gave whoever it was—Genesis, he suspected—kudos because that was the second time in one day he was impressed with someone’s vocabulary.

From off-screen a rather loud explanation came, “—the cheeky bastards have _nothing better to do_. The squadron won’t arrive for at least two hours. The garage doors are _JAMMED_ because _SOMEONE_ DECIDED IT WOULD BE FUN TO RIG A _FAKE FUCKING BOMB IN THE MECHANISMS_! So now, I get the lovely little opportunity to FILL OUT PAPERWORK FOR AN AUTHORIZED INVESTIGATION INTO THE THREAT. Isn’t this just _PEACHY_?” that was definitely Genesis, cackling almost hysterically in between shrieks of anger.

Cloud shuddered to think of what the poor idiots who’d inspired the general’s anger would have to face if he ever caught up to them.

Angeal blinked somewhere over the camera of the phs—presumably at Genesis—before turning back to face Cloud with a deep sigh. “Apparently it’s taking a little longer than we would have thought. I’m assuming you caught all of that?”

Cloud wondered to himself if anyone in a five mile radius didn’t catch all of that. They needed their hearing checked, if so.

“Yes, I did. Uh, thank you for the... warning... Angeal,” he spoke haltingly, still mulling over what he’d just heard. It would be dinner time in two hours. He needed to get the delivery to Tseng, and soon at that. “I was ordered to return the package by dinner time. Do you, or Zack (if he’s done impersonating a circus clown) know of another way around this... blockade that doesn’t take us to the closed road?” Cloud asked, somewhat disgruntled.

Angeal, amused, seemed to ponder what Cloud said for a second as an indignant “hey! I heard that!” rang out from Zack at his side.

“I can’t say I know of any that a car could take, no. There is, however, a walkway that should get you to the next plate. You might be able to grab a taxi from there,” Angeal suggested after a second. “If you don’t mind me stealing your number off of Zack’s phs, I’ll send you the on-foot gps of the route.”

Cloud nodded in confirmation, “that would be fine, thank you, and thank you for your help.”

“It’s not a problem! Please, stay safe though. Those birds may be distracted by food for a while yet, but we don’t want them getting violent. You should be able to cut around them without their notice, though, if you double back around... let me see the picture, again...” Angeal mumbled the last part to himself, flipping the video off for a second, presumably to look at the picture he’d sent Zack.

Cloud yawned.

“Right, this is the block I thought it was. If you backtrack to the little beer and wine store on the right, you should be able to find your way around the back walkway and cut around the monsters. I’m sending you the path now.”

Cloud received a ping from an unknown number and assumed it was Angeal. “Thank you again, so much,” he said, tiredness from the absurdity of it all clear in his voice.

“Not a problem. Get home safe, okay? I can’t imagine the whining I’d have to endure if the puppy lost his favorite play toy,” Angeal teased.

“...’puppy’?” Cloud wondered aloud.

“Zack,” Angeal said by way of explanation. It fit, when he thought about it.

The screen was suddenly shaky again as Zack snatched it back. “Jokes aside,” he glared at his mentor, “seriously, Spike, stay safe. There’s so many creeps down there and I’d like you to not get murdered,” he chuckled nervously.

“Okay, mom,” Cloud sassed. “I’ll be fine, promise. I’ll even be in bed by eleven.”

Zack snorted, “you better be. Talk to you later, Cloudy. Oh! And before I forget,” he grinned stupidly, “tell the birds I said to ‘stop with the fowl play!’” He broke out into nearly hysterical chortles.

Angeal looked reluctantly amused.

Cloud just glared at Zack.

“Goodbye, Zack,” Cloud said firmly, about to press the red button.

Zack got himself under control enough for Cloud to hear him (supposedly addressing Genesis who’d popped into the other side of the screen to glare at him for the stupid joke) say, “it’s okay, Gen. Bird jokes fly right over his head!”

Cloud, face deadpan and staring pointedly into the distance, ended the call to Zack’s annoying cackles, Angeal’s pained groan, Genesis’ shrieking, and another voice (Sephiroth?) telling the overly amused brunet to calm down.

Cloud was so done.

* * *

After paying the driver for the short trip, eventually winding through the crowds on the sidewalks, and meandering past sticky fingers and people trying almost desperately to get Cloud to buy their “genuine sea pearl necklaces, only 30 Gil,” Cloud found his way around the buildings and the hippogriffs on the other side of them to the walkway Angeal had talked about.

During his forty-five minute venture behind the buildings and up the walkway, nothing overly interesting happened, thank Shiva. Cloud would’ve been inclined to scream if he’d encountered more resistance.

He got up to the street on the next plate and hailed a taxi. This time, there were no feathery beasts in the road. However, he did get splashed by an absolute tidal wave of sludge and stagnant water when a massive truck buzzed by while he was attempting to hail said cab. He smelled—quite literally—like shit.

Had Cloud pondered how absolutely done with today he was in a while? Because he was. Done, that is.

After getting in the cab with very little fanfare, he told the driver his intended destination and set the box of coffee down in the seat beside him, once again taking the driver’s side backseat.

Cloud pulled his phs out of his pocket and it was, thankfully, untouched by sewer sludge. Small miracles, he guessed.

The 50 minute trip back up to the top was uneventful, Cloud mindlessly scrolling through a news article about the Red General’s coat, seemingly having been painted atrocious colors by an unknown assailant. Boy did the fan club work fast. Cloud sometimes secretly wondered if General Rhapsodos didn’t discreetly feed info to some of the members of the Loveless clique. He seemed like the type to enjoy the attention.

After finally arriving back at the top, the cab dropped him off about a ten minute walk away from Shinra headquarters. He could get through the gate just fine with his military ID, but the driver should’ve been able to pull closer still. Cloud asked about this and receive a curt “block ahead. They’re not letting vehicles of any kind through. Something about a lab.”

Cloud was done. Still.

He paid the driver and headed on his way, up to the headquarters. He keyed in through the gates and made it about two minutes away from the front of the building when he was stopped by a rather large group of people. Business men and women, SOLDIERs, and troopers alike stood around craning their necks to see the front of the building.

Cloud asked the lady next to him just what the issue was. Her response was a distracted, “baby chocobos from the labs. They were being transferred or something. Broke out and now they’re blocking the main entrance. They’re trying to recapture them.”

Bloody fucking hell. Cloud was about ready to give up and face the consequences of a coffee deprived, disgruntled, and vengeful Turk when he realized that he’d really rather not. So caught up in his thoughts, and trying to plan how to get into the building was Cloud that he didn’t realize the people around him had begun panicking. It wasn’t until the people directly in front of him started scrambling madly that he realized something was happening.

He had all of a split second to come to himself when he realized that A, the crowd had parted and was staring at him and, B, there was a very large, very hungry looking mob of 101 cm tall birds who were eying the box he had in his hands with more than a small amount of interest.

...fuck.

Thankfully, babies have smaller legs and aren’t as fast as full grown adult chocobos. Unfortunately, they’re still really fucking fast. Cloud found this out the hard way as he hauled his ass around the crowd of people to escape the seemingly possessed birds.

Pandemonium.

Cloud was convinced he’d never moved as fast in his life.

The people around him were shrieking and running into each other, tripping and falling flat on their faces. A redheaded Turk Cloud vaguely remembered having seen around had been accidentally pushed over by a SOLDIER 2nd class who was trying to herd a couple of ladies out of the way. He was just starting to get up when a yellow ball of fuzz quickly stomped on his head while running over him in its race to get to Cloud, and more importantly, the box of coffee beans that seemed to have set them all off. He would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so close to screaming.

Thankfully, the mass of screaming people seemed to slow the birds down, but there were still a couple of fuzzballs that were hot on his heels, pecking the hell out of him when they could catch him. He was sure his pants were in shreds at this point. He was also distantly aware that a rather profane litany of swear words that would’ve made even the toughest of SOLDIERs blush was pouring out of his mouth verbatim. His country boy creativity was showing. He, also, really couldn’t care less at the moment.

Cloud, without remorse, tripped a flailing SOLDIER 1st class into the last two beaked bitches who were about to catch him. Sacrifices had to be made, after all.

Finally, the doors at the front of the building were within his reach. If he could just run a little more—

But why should he be so lucky? Of course, of fucking course, one of the chocobos (a black, a distant part of Cloud’s brain admired) had caught up to him.

It leapt on his shoulders and was trying almost desperately to peck at the box. Cloud flailed, every ounce of dignity he might have retained lost, as he quickly rammed the bird into the side of the building to get it off. It wouldn’t. Let. Go.

At this point, his jacket was a lost cause. He let it flop to the ground in shreds as he wrestled with the bird.

“Get off, you cunt sucking fucksack!” Cloud all but screamed, his voice warbling from the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The bird just dug it’s claws in deeper and redoubled it’s efforts.

Cloud let out a scream of rage and finally rammed it hard enough into the building that it was stunned. He quickly tossed his box of coffee toward the doors and landed a left hook on the bird that nearly knocked it out. He raced by, grabbed the box, opened the door, and quickly shut it and locked it just as a shrieking chocobo ran into it behind him.

He dropped the box at his feet, took a deep breath, and leaned against the door for a minute. He honestly could not comprehend what had just happened. He glanced out the glass door. He also didn’t think the people out there could comprehend it either.

* * *

After catching his breath, Cloud picked up the box of the thrice damned coffee once again and started for the nearby elevator. He noted that the foyer of the building was empty, unsurprisingly.

Finally getting into the elevator, he once again unceremoniously dropped the box on the ground and sat down, perfectly content to ride all the way back up to floor sixty-fucking-whatever on his rosy red and severely abused asscheeks.

(He thought somewhere in the back of his mind that it was dangerously close to dinner time. He couldn’t find it in himself to care).

Unfortunately, almost as he was to floor 49, the elevator stopped abruptly. With a very loud groan. That probably wasn’t good.

Cloud sat there for about three minutes contemplating what the ever loving fuck he did to deserve this (“honestly was this day some kind of divine punishment?”), before he finally mustered up the will to stand, and begin prying the elevator door open. He whipped out his regulation pocket knife. He could replace it, if need be, he just wanted _out_.

He managed to get the door open enough to squeeze himself and the box out, and luckily he really only did have a big step up onto the floor. He pushed the box through, and followed quickly afterward. He had just climbed onto solid (somewhat) ground when he heard a resounding “ **CRACK** ” behind him, and the ear-piercing scream of metal on metal as the elevator cable snapped and sent the cart plummeting down to the bottom.

Cloud really didn’t want to think about the implications of that right now. Instead, he picked up the box of the one hundred times damned coffee for the one thousand times damned Turk and headed to the stairwell. He made it up to floor fucking-hell-whatever-number-Shiva-take-me-now-my-legs-hurt-so-bad with very little fanfare, and a lot of panting.

* * *

He opened the door to see the secretary crying, apparently,—although she was... laughing? Seemingly?—standing in front of her desk. Zack was beside her, on the ground, his entire body shaking. He was laughing so hard no noise was coming out. General Angeal was leaning back against a wall, balled up fist beating his legs as he wheezed (dear gods Cloud hoped his lungs were okay that noise shouldn’t be coming from a human being what the hell), and general Genesis was kneeling on the ground beside him, leaning against the wall sideways, laughing almost as hard, using Angeal’s legs to hold himself bodily upright.

Across from them all and facing away from Cloud stood general Sephiroth (oh god no please not today, of all days, not in front of the one man he genuinely couldn’t stand the thought of embarrassing himself in front of), shoulders shaking.

Cloud barely registered the Turk standing behind the secretary’s desk before Tseng addressed him. “Cadet Strife, was it? I assume that’s my order?” He asked.

Cloud couldn’t drag his horrified gaze away from Zack and the generals as, one by one, almost in slow motion, they all turned to stare at him.

They looked genuinely stunned.

Zack sat still for a second, face blank, before he collapsed back on the ground, beating a dent into the floor, a barely detectable wheeze coming from him. Cloud would murder him one of these days, he vowed to himself.

The other three and the secretary all started up again.

Cloud was. So. So. So. So. Done.

He glanced at himself in the reflective glass windows and took inventory of the fact that his pants were shredded all along his calves, his shirt was torn across his shoulders (that were scratched to hell and back) and hanging off of them awkwardly, his hair was sticking up every way (even worse than normal), and he had mud and feathers caked to essentially every square inch of his body.

Did Cloud mention he was done?

He went to speak and acknowledge Tseng when he accidentally choked on a feather that he promptly spit out after the ensuing coughing fit.

Zack wheezed harder.

Utterly finished with this nonsense, Cloud was five seconds away from dropping the box (a pastime he was coming to greatly enjoy) and turning about face to run away when the secretary, bless her heart, finally spoke up through her rapidly calming snickers.

“Lieutenant Fair here was just—“ she had to visibly calm herself again. “Lieutenant Fair was just showing us a video a friend of his sent from the courtyard of the building.”

Cloud felt the dread already pooling in his gut.

“Apparently a rather petite blond man was tearing through the crowd with a rather large flock of escaped chocobos on his tail, screaming a creative list of swear words and swear combinations. He, hah—“ she had to gather herself yet again. “He was... seen beating up a bird before promptly racing inside,” her composure broke again.

Cloud could only stare in dumbfounded disbelief. How could anyone find the time or the place to whip out a phs and film the absolute shit show that just went down?

Tseng, either pitying him or just wanting his coffee (Cloud assumed the latter), grabbed the box from his hands and, with a small thank you and an amused twinkle in his eye, took off down the hallway. Cloud was beyond ready to be rid of the box. He was hoping he could keep it to burn it, though, for all the trouble it gave him. Oh well. It was probably for the best. Knowing the bad luck it brought him today, he likely would’ve accidentally burned all of Shinra down with it.

He winced at the thought, and at the pain in his shoulders.

He swore privately to himself then and there that he’d become the best damn SOLDIER to ever exist.

“And what brought on this sudden motivation?” the question was presented by none other than a significantly calmer and now facing him Sephiroth, making Cloud realize it hadn’t been as private as he’d thought.

“Because, if I’m the best,” he answered slowly, and with no small amount of venom, “then someday, I’ll be able to walk up to that smug, snide, and presumptuous bastard and punch his godsdamned nose flat into his face.”

Sephiroth didn’t seem to expect this—blinking almost owlishly if it was anyone else—but Genesis just bent over into another peal of giggles.

Cloud turned around to head back to the barracks (and hopefully a well-earned shower) when Zack spoke up.

“Hey Cloudy,” he said, shoulders shaking with barely contained mirth. “Don’t let this day put you in...” he paused for dramatic affect.

Cloud groaned in dread, already knowing what was coming.

“...A ‘fowl’ mood!” Zack positively howled with laughter at this, leaning against the desk behind him almost desperately.

Cloud promptly reached down, pulled off his boot, turned around slowly, and chucked it at his friend’s face. Hard.

It hit the brunet right in his mouth, dirty water, mud, chocobo feathers and all squelching onto him. Zack spluttered in indignation, while the other three SOLDIERS positively cried with laughter.

Cloud turned around and stormed into the stairwell after slamming the door viciously behind him.

It wasn’t enough to satisfy him completely, but he was sated with the image of Zack getting pelted in the head with his filthy boot for now. He’d get his revenge later. And it would include the largest amount of pink glitter and naked Sephiroth cutouts he could find; this, he _vowed_.

**Author's Note:**

> Actually, yeah I do have an explanation; I was bored on a Sunday afternoon and decided this was more important than napping. Idk.


End file.
